‘Some flowers would add nicely to the decor.’ Nicholas looked appreciatively round the bedroom which Laura had been tidying as they talked.

‘I’ll see what the garden can provide. What’s all this?’ she asked, catching sight of an assortment of objects on a side-table.

‘We bought them back.’ Nicholas watched her reaction. ‘We enjoy picking over his knick-knacks’ stall. We think we should support the arts. He’s writing a book, your toy boy, did you know?’

‘Yes.’ Laura tossed their dirty nightclothes out onto the landing, suppressing the impulse to hit one or both the old persons, noting that her rare rush of affection was draining rapidly.

‘We shall be better tomorrow,’ said Nicholas hoarsely.

‘She’s afraid we shall be,’ said Emily, who read Laura’s face better than her brother.

‘Don’t push your luck, I’m not strong enough,’ said Nicholas.

Laura carried the sheets and pillowcases down and put them in the washing machine. She made soup and while it brewed she cut branches of forsythia buds from the garden and set a vase where they could see it from the bed. She brought up the television. As she worked, she tried to persuade herself that Nicholas had not actually threatened Claud. She must not become paranoid. What harm could he do?

Presently she went out in her car and did some necessary shopping. When she returned she fed the old people with soup and fruit and switched on the television. They were a little flushed by now, still coughing but beginning to get sleepy.

In the garden she raked leaves into piles, pruned and cut back shrubs, heaping the branches and twigs onto a high pile of leaves. Her spirits improved with the work. When the sheets were washed, she hung them on the line to be blanched by the moon, crisped by the frost. She was pleased by the company of the resident robin who discovered treats which she had exposed with her raking.

She filled the wheelbarrow with logs from the store, stacked up the log baskets in the house and brought a load to her own quarters. Her rooms were warm now and homely. Before lighting her bonfire she kicked off her rubber boots and went upstairs to look in on the invalids.

Children’s hour was playing on the television; Nicholas and Emily were asleep. They looked old and rather ill, innocent, their mouths agape.

Tired but happy, she returned to the garden to light her bonfire. Crouching beside it, putting a match to dry leaves, she watched the flame hesitate then leap from leaf to leaf and the whole begin to glow as she fed it with twigs, then heavier sticks and branches. As the aromatic smoke swirled up she stacked and padded up the fire so that the whole heap of rubbish would combust and burn through the night, leaving only a ring of ash in the morning. At some time in the night, she promised herself, she would wake and come to the door and breathe in the nostalgic scent of past autumns and winters.